


Across the Way

by astano



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astano/pseuds/astano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana's pretty sure this isn't the intended use for Skype, but it definitely makes her move to Louisville, and away from Brittany, a little easier to endure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across the Way

Brittany’s been sending her dirty text messages all day, which has really not helped her concentration levels in the slightest. She’s lucky they’re still in the first week of classes and most of her lectures have been introductory sessions, because, really, she can’t remember a single thing that’s been said to her.

She’s just heading back to her dorm when her phone beeps again and she almost, almost doesn’t check the message, because she _knows_ it’s Brittany, knows looking is going to do nothing but drive the arousal that’s been building all day even higher. But she’s weak, and it’s _Brittany_ , she she pulls the phone out and unlocks the screen.

_Need you, Santana. I’m so wet already, don’t make me wait any longer._

And damn it all, Santana nearly walks into a lamppost as she reads the message. She quickly types out that she’ll be home in five minutes, so Brittany better be ready on Skype, and then slips her phone back into her pocket and begins jogging the rest of the way back to her dorm.

It's not the first time they’ve done this—since she moved to Louisville a couple of weeks ago, they’ve had to get a little creative—but it is the first time she’s had Brittany teasing her all day beforehand.

Her laptop is booted as soon as she walks into her room, and she kicks her shoes off then settles on the bed, waiting for it to load. Of course, being as impatient as she is, it seems to take five times longer than normal, but she’s finally greeted with her desktop and she immediately opens up Skype and clicks to open a video chat with Brittany.

“Hey,” Brittany says, and Santana can tell she wasn’t lying in her text messages, because her voice is just a little deeper than normal, tinged with the slight huskiness that she normally only gets when Santana’s been working her up for an age.

“God, Britt,” Santana says in lieu of a greeting. “You have no idea how much I wish you were here right now.”

“Me too,” Brittany replies. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Santana chuckles a little and rubs at her forehead. “I know, you kept telling me, remember?”

“I didn’t tell you what exactly I was thinking about, though, did I?”

There’s a smile on Brittany’s face and Santana swallows, because she knows Brittany’s mind and she knows it’s going to be good, whatever it is. “What were you thinking about?”

“Nuh uh. I want to see you—all of you—first.”

Santana’s clothes come off—quickly—and she shuffles back on the bed, angling the computer so Brittany has a full view of her body. She feels a little exposed like this, but she casts a quick glance at her door, checking she remembered to lock it, then turns her attention back to the screen. Her voice is just a little breathless as she says, “You too.”

The screen goes dark for a second, then Brittany’s back in focus, and god, it’s not like Santana has forgotten how amazing Brittany’s body is—that’s not something you forget easily, or _ever_ —but she still can’t help the way her breath catches in her throat as her eyes dart over the screen.

Brittany’s placed the laptop on a pillow to her side, right by her hips, so Santana can see almost her entire body. Her eyes are immediately drawn to Brittany’s right hand, currently just absentmindedly stroking across her stomach. It makes Santana ache, knowing just moments ago, that hand was probably buried between perfect thighs, stroking and teasing, working herself up... Santana’s own hand slides lower, almost without her realising it, until she’s scratching lightly over her lower stomach.

She looks up and catches Brittany’s gaze. “Baby,” she says, “What were you thinking about?”

“Remember just before you left?” Brittany asks, and Santana nods, biting her lip in anticipation as Brittany continues. “We had the house all to ourselves for the day...”

“Yeah,” Santana says, and she’s remembering, remembering how Brittany just would _not_ stop touching her all day, how she’d come so many times she felt for sure her body would just give up out of pure exhaustion, but Brittany kept managing to coax more out of her, just pushing her that little bit further.

“In the kitchen, on the counter...” Brittany groans slightly, and Santana’s torn between watching Brittany’s face —the way her tongue flicks out, moistening dry lips, and her eyes flutter closed for just a second before opening again and pinning Santana with a stare that settles like a caress between her thighs—and watching the hand that’s moving lower now, teasing through short hairs and causing a subtle rock of hips that Santana knows is only going to become more insistent with time.

With her eyes unable to settle, she mirrors Brittany’s touch, sighing softly as her fingers stroke downwards.

“I miss being able to taste you,” Brittany continues after a second and Santana nods her agreement.

“Two weeks,” she says. “We just have to wait another two weeks.”

“Yeah.” Brittany’s reply is gasped and Santana’s eyes flick from her face down to where Brittany’s fingers are now drawing circles at the apex of her thighs. She can’t see, exactly, but it doesn’t matter, because once she knows just what Brittany’s doing to herself, there are so many other things to take in.

“Fuck,” Santana mutters. “You are so fucking hot.”

“You too,” Brittany replies, then, “Touch yourself for me.”

Santana’s fingers slip lower, quickly becoming covered in the sticky evidence of her arousal as they tease around her entrance. Her hips lift demandingly from the bed, but she doesn’t slide inside just yet, no matter how much she wants to. Instead, she drags up, presses lightly against her clit and lets out a low groan.

Her eyes want to close, but she forces them open, looks at Brittany, at how her body is undulating softly, fingers still working to coax quiet whimpers from her throat.

“Britt,” she says, and it comes out more like a moan, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You—You being here. Kissing you. I miss kissing you until you’ve forgotten who you are and your body’s just shaking underneath me. You’re always so wet, Santana, just from—from kissing me.”

Santana hisses and her hips jerk as she presses down roughly against her clit. “More.”

“When I stop teasing you and push my fingers inside and you make a noise like—like it’s the only thing in the whole world you need and I’m the one giving it to you.” Brittany breaks off for a second, gasping and raising the leg furthest away from the camera so her foot is flat on the bed. Santana can see her fingers dipping lower, hips arching, back bowing. “Do it now—please,” Brittany continues. “Fuck yourself, Santana.”

“Yes. Brittany, _god_ ,” Santana whimpers as she slips two fingers inside, curling up as she thrusts. They’re not Brittany’s, not quite as long or as powerful, don’t hit her in quite the right places, but she can see Brittany straining against her own fingers, see the twitching in her stomach and trembling on her thighs as she fucks herself and it’s almost, almost enough to make up for the difference.

In between the gasps and half-moans of her name, Santana can hear the wet sound of Brittany’s fingers as they move, harder now, deeper, the muscles in her arm working visibly to bring her release. She bites her lip and slows her fingers, because she’s so close to tumbling over the edge, but she wants to see Brittany come first, doesn’t want to miss a moment of watching her.

“Brittany,” she says and Brittany’s eyes flutter open with seeming difficulty. “God, Brittany, I need to see you come.”

Brittany nods a little frantically, gasps Santana’s name, then her body arches off the bed, and stiffens momentarily before shaking and trembling with her orgasm. Santana’s fingers barely have to move, she curls and presses the palm of her hand against her clit, then she’s tensing too, helplessly crying out Brittany’s name as she comes.

“Love you,” she hears Brittany mumble after a few seconds of only the sound of their heavy breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Love you too,” she says. “Always.”

Brittany smiles at her and Santana fights the urge to reach out and touch her screen.

“I have to go,” Brittany says softly. “Mom will be home soon.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Brittany nods and then they’re saying goodbye. As she powers down her laptop, Santana wonders if there’s any way she can manage to get back to Lima sooner rather than later, because two weeks seems like far too long to wait.


End file.
